"a picture for my older children, and of my youngest child once a week, every week, in 2017."

Stella: This week I walked your Jakarta best friend to school every morning. We pass treas heavy with cherry blossoms, petals snowing down on blustery days. There is a rose bush, ten houses up. And your friend stoops down to pick a fallen blossom and asks me to carry it home. I flashback to when you were still padded by baby fat on the pool deck in Jakarta, collecting frangipani flowers with this same friend. I asked her if she remembered, the two of you played this game every Friday for a year. But she didn't. I remember, though. I knew then as I know now, watching you play in the late tropical sun, those were golden days.

Hugo: I road the train to Yorkshire. You would have loved it. We took a slow train, the tube, a fast train, and a slow train again. We saw pheasants, and a dear, knock kneed lambs, cows, horses, and rolling hills. I wished I could have shown you this, dear boy.

Lyra: You started playing with toys this week. I can pass you a rubber toy, and you grasp it, bringing it to your mouth. You're quite pleased with yourself and your new skills, and I delight in watching you grow.